


Brothers in Arms

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (A/B/O) [32]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Gen, Kaer Morhen, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26631400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: The Wild Hunt will attack soon after she arrives. Could use you at my side.Brothers in ArmsThose who serve together in a conflict, especially war
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (A/B/O) [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598041
Comments: 56
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArthurtheGatekeeper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurtheGatekeeper/gifts).



> It’s always nice when Witcher quests use idioms so I can steal them for my titles.

The tavern was bustling with life. Geralt stepped inside, casting a quick glance over the patrons. “Geralt!” called a familiar voice. Dandelion came rolling toward him, his eyes glowing. “You’re back!”

“Hey, Dandelion,” he said with a laugh. “How’re your feet?”

“Zoltan commissioned a cane for me,” he said brightly. “It’s beautiful, Geralt! It has carvings of musical notes and-”

“Geralt!” shouted the dwarf, stomping over and embracing him. “What brings ya to Novigrad.”

“I know where Ciri is.”

Dandelion clapped his hands in delight. “Excellent!”

“Then why’re we here?” asked Zoltan. “Let’s go get the lassie!” He looked read to run out the door at a moment’s notice.

“I’ll do that,” promised Geralt. “But I have another job for you. You need to set off for Kaer Morhen, that’s where I’ll take Ciri.” As the sorceress approached, Geralt called, “You too, Triss, if you can.”

“I’m always happy to help,” she promised.

“The Wild Hunt will attack soon after she arrives. Could use you at my side.”

“You have us,” promised Zoltan.

“See you at Kaer Morhen. The others are already there. Triss knows the way.”

* * *

Geralt couldn’t stay long, no matter how much they all might want him to. As soon as he was gone, Triss and Zoltan threw themselves into preparations to leave.

“Dandelion,” asked Zoltan suddenly. “What’re you doing?”

The bard had pushed himself up from his chair and was limping across the room with help from his cane. “Getting packed,” said the bard. “What does it look like?”

“No,” said Triss firmly. “You have to stay-”

“You can’t leave me here,” pointed out the bard, folding his arms over his chest, then nearly falling when he had to release his cane to do so. He caught himself on a table.

“Er- Dandelion, I don’t know how ta say this but-” Zoltan stumbled over his words, rubbing the back of his head weakly. “Well-“

“You’d be a liability,” said Triss bluntly.

“If I stayed here I would be.” The poet’s eyes gleamed with elation, knowing he had an argument they couldn’t possibly beat. “Imagine, both my protectors off to fight the Wild Hunt. Exactly how long do you think I’d last? Two days? Three? What would Geralt think if - after saving Ciri - he comes back and dead or worse?”

“Lad’s got a point,” said the dwarf after a moment.

“Which he conveniently waited to mention until after Geralt left.” Triss rubbed at her face. “You just want material for your next ballad,” she accused.

“What! No! It’s just that I haven’t been to Kaer Morhen in years,” remarked Dandelion. “And- OH! Lambert will be there! He’s an old friend of mine, I simply must see him again.”

“Lambert does not have friends,” said Triss.

“He has me!” said the poet excitedly.

Triss and Zoltan exchanged glances. As much as neither of them wanted Dandelion to go along, there was no logical reason to stop him. He was right in saying that he would be in danger at the Cabaret by himself.

“Oh alright,” grumbled Zoltan.

Dandelion preened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place a few weeks after the last one, once everyone else arrived at Kaer Morhen.
> 
> Geralt went to get Ciri and they took a portal to Kae Morhen. Geralt hadn’t been to the fortress before that, so he didn’t what was going on (but everyone he recruited had gotten there first).

Their portal materialized right where they’d planned, in the middle of the courtyard at Kaer Morhen. Vesemir, who was checking on the horses, came running, grabbing Ciri and pulling her into a hug.

A high pitched scream broke up the reunion. “Ciri!” Yennefer screamed, racing down the path toward them.

“My, you’ve grown beautiful,” she said once she reached them, pulling Ciri into a tight hug.

“No point standing around,” said Vesemir. “Come, let’s greet the others.” He sighed. “There’s a few surprises,” he mumbled, looking away from Geralt pointedly. Geralt raised an eyebrow. 

“You’ve not changed a bit,” said Ciri in disbelief, looking back and forth between Vesemir, Geralt, and Yennefer. “Any of you. You’re exactly like I remembered.”

“Ciri! Geralt!” Triss was next to come hurrying down the stairs, her eyes gleaming with delight.

“They’re all here,” Vesemir said quietly. “Everyone you asked for help. Come inside.”

Ciri broke away from Triss with a sudden gasp. “Dandelion!”

“What?” demanded Geralt. He turned, irritated - but, if he was honest - not entirely surprised to see the bard standing on the stone steps, leaning heavily on his cane and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Behind the bard, Zoltan made a point of looking away. Geralt turned to Triss, narrowing his eyes. “He made excellent arguments,” she said. "And, as you once said, he is an adult and can do what he likes." 

"I said he was _kind of_ an adult," Geralt argued, much to Yennefer's delight. 

On the stairs, Ciri had reached Dandelion, hugging the bard tightly.

Geralt and the others followed her, albeit at a slower pace, not catching up until she had decided that she was finished clinging to Dandelion. Then she pulled back, her eyes wide with alarm. “What happened to your feet?” she demanded. 

“I wanted a cane!” said Dandelion brightly, waving the aforementioned item. “I’m _dashing_ with a cane, aren’t I Triss?”

“Dashing into trouble,” muttered Yennefer. 

Dandelion pouted. “Ciri, your mama is a cruel woman,” he said. “She threatened to throw me out a window when I arrived, can you believe her?”

“Yes,” laughed Ciri. “But what about-”

“Oh, don’t worry about me!” he urged, giving her a shove. “I’d wager Geralt wants to shout at me, judging by his face, so I’ll let you move along. Better to let him get it out of his system so that it doesn’t fester.”

The others walked past them, heading into the fortress and leaving Geralt and Dandelion behind. “What are you looking so smug for, Bard?” Geralt demanded. “Because you connived your way here?”

“No,” said Dandelion, shaking his head. “Just thinking about something you said to me, once.”

“What was that?”

Blue eyes glittered. “You said that Witchers don’t have families.” He waved a hand. “Look around you, Geralt, this is your family, just like I told you.”

Geralt looked away. “Who all came?” he asked stiffly. 

“Let me show you around,” said Dandelion. 

“Dandelion,” said the Witcher. “I grew up here, I don’t need a guide.”

The bard ignored him, pushing himself off, leaning heavily on his cane. “You would not believe how much they’ve needed me - it turns out, none of your friends get along! Can you believe it?”

“Yes.”

“Our first day here Zoltan got into it with Hjalmar over who’s alcohol was better Skellige or Mahakam. Triss, Yen and Keirra keep arguing over, well, everything, and the only reason Lambert hasn’t skewered me is because he’s too busy trying to get Letho who won’t stop teasing Roche and Ves. And Folan won’t stop muttering about Ragh nar Roog and the end of the world, although, I’m fairly certain he believes he can stab it.”

The Witcher grinned. “Sounds like a mess.”

“It would be worse if I weren’t here. I’ve quite popular, you know. Hjalmar invited me to visit Skellige and perform for his sister, the _Queen_!”

Geralt sighed. “Dandelion, I thought you’d be safest in Novigrad. I still think-”

“I’m an unmated Omega,” snapped the bard. “I’m safest with you. Priscilla said she could handle the tavern and she has Wendy and her frying pan to protect her.”

Before Geralt could think up a responce they’d reached the Skelligan forces, who were gathered until a wooden walkway, shields and weapons strewn about.

“Ah, Geralt!” said Hjalmar brightly. “How’re things?” 

“Well enough.” Gesturing to the armor he asked, “Did you bring the whole armory?”

“Nah,” said Hjalmar. “Only what we could carry.”

Dandelion snorted. “Come on, Geralt, you need to see what Zoltan’s been working on.”

“I like that dwarf!” Folan shouted after them. "I'm honored to fight by his side!"

“He insisted I bring Zoltan with me when I go to Skelliege,” said Dandelion, shaking his head. “Are Omegas-”

“The people of Skellige don’t care what you are as long as you hit things with a an axe,” said Geralt with a shrug.

“I might need to learn to use an axe,” the bard mused.

“No.”

Zoltan wasn’t far from the Skelligan forces. It seemed he’d dug into Kaer Morhen’s armory and dragged out anything that was still useful, creating a small forge.

“Outfitting an army?” Geralt asked, glancing at the supplies piled around the dwarf.

“Thought to myself, a battle approaches. Blades’ll need honing, plate’ll need hammering. That sort o’ thing.”

“Thought right,” said Geralt. “Thanks Zoltan.”

“Zoltan’s going to make a bomb,” said Dandelion. “I’m helping him- or I was. I’m not helping him anymore, but it wasn’t my fault. It just got a little out of hand is all.”

“Nearly blew ‘imself ta bits,” said Zoltan. He opened his mouth to explain more, and Dandelion quickly acted as though he was going to interrupt. Geralt didn't want to know.

“That’s all I want to know,” he promised, stepping away from the dwarf.

Beyond Zoltan’s makeshift forge, Vesemir and Ermion were standing beside a hole in the ground, which appeared to be spewing some sort of gas. Geralt motioned for Dandelion to stay well away from it..

“I certainly hope this gas will work,” muttered Vesemir.

“It shall,” promised Ermion. “We must just ignite it at the right moment.”

“And that hole,” asked Vesemir. “Is it there for good?”

“We shall worry about the hole once this is all over! And now, step back Master Witcher.”

The hole spewed a noxious yellow gas as Ermion waved a hand and chanted over it. Geralt waited until it settled down to approach, making sure to stay between it and Dandelion.

“Whoever repaired these walls did a shoddy job of it,” complained the mage.

“Maybe we can still patch up these holes?” asked Geralt hopefully. It was something they were always meaning to do, or attempting in various ways. But with only three Witchers who regularly lived in the fortress there wasn't much that they could do. 

“We’ve got the materials,” mused Vesemir.

“I can help you if you wish,” said Ermion, adjusting his horned hat with a nod. 

“What about Lambert?” asked Geralt. Beside him, Dandelion snickered.

“Even I know how he’ll take to bricklaying,” the bard said, seeming utterly delighted. Geralt left Vesemir and Ermion to finish work on their hole - and presumably track down Lambert with the good news - and let Dandelion lead him further into the keep.

“Geralt,” said Dandelion as they stepped into the courtyard. “They’ve been fighting nonstop. In fact, I’d wager that Lambert’s been too angry at Letho to do anything to me.” Hastily he added, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Still got time to leave,” said Lambert. He was standing beside Eskel, his arms folded over his chest as they both glared at Letho. They hadn’t noticed the approach of Geralt and Dandelion, too busy fighting.

“I don’t wanna,” said Letho softly.

Eskel urged, “Think it over.”

“I will,” Letho rumbled softly. He easily towered over Eskel and Lambert but didn’t seem interested in intimidating them. “I do my best thinking alone.”

“You should have said no,” said Eskel, folding his arms over his chest.

“None of your business.”

“Wrong!” shouted Lambert. “It is his! And mine! We’d rather not have you behind our backs during the Battle.”

“What is it now?” asked Geralt tiredly.

“Why did you even bring him?” demanded Lambert, spinning to glare at Geralt without a proper greeting. “Wasn’t the poet bad enough?” He was apparently still sour over the Omega comment that had long since been forgotten by everyone else on the Continent. 

“I need Letho.” He didn't comment on Dandelion. 

“Our opinions count too,” snapped Eskel.

“I need anyone who can face the riders of the hunt in battle.” He paused, then added, “Your likes and dislikes? They count for a lot less than that.”

“You’re making a mistake,” argued Eskel.

“He makes a lot of those.” Lambert’s eyes narrowed, having just noticed Dandelion limping up behind Geralt.

“I did nothing,” said the bard quickly. “Nothing at all. Come on Geralt, let’s go.” He nodded quickly to Eskel and continued limping past.

“Here’s my question,” said Dandelion, once they were away from the bickering Witchers.

“You have a lot of those, bard.”

“Did you need to invite both Letho and Roche?” The bard raised an eyebrow. “Geralt- if Ioroveth is about to jump out of a tree, I need to know, because I’ve been busy enough keeping the peace without him and-”

“I couldn’t find Ioroveth.”

“Oh well that’s good - you looked!? Geralt!” The bard shook his head, pulling at his hair with the hand that wasn't holding his cane and muttering to himself. 

“I don’t have a lot of-”

“Geralt, listen, I understand that you need fighters, but I’ve spent a week keeping your fighters from murdering each other! What if I hadn’t been here?” 

With a shake of his head, Geralt sped up, leaving Dandelion behind as he reached Roche and Ves. “Glad to see you,” he called.

“I set out alone, Ves tracked me down,” explained Roche, before Geralt could ask about the appearance of the blonde woman. “Insisted on coming.”

“There are a few uninvited guests,” Geralt said, giving Dandelion a pointed glance.

“I wanted to give you a hiding for not asking for my help,” sniffed the woman. “But I took it all out on Roche along the way.”

Roche’s eyes suddenly narrowed at something behind Geralt. He didn’t need to turn to guess who was walking up behind him.

“Ah, some old friends,” said Letho.

“What’s this whoreson doing here?” demanded Ves.

“We need him,” said Geralt.

“You might ‘ave forgotten what he did,” said Ves, “but I haven’t.”

“I’ll keep an eye on Letho,” Geralt said with a sigh.

“I’ll behave, I promise,” said Letho.

“Watch this murderer and you won’t be keeping an eye on the enemy,” said Roche. “Why is the kingslayer so important?”

“Well,” Dandelion said slowly. “Eredin is a king, isn’t he?”

“Fuck you both,” spat Roche. Dandelion looked affronted and yelped, muttering something about how it wasn’t his idea and he shouldn’t be held accountable and attempting to limp away as nonchalantly as he could.

“We’ll stay and help,” said Ves. “But we don’t want him at our backs.”

“Don’t worry,” Geralt promised. “Dandelion will keep an eye on him.”

“What?” hissed the bard. He’d already started up the stairs past Roche and Ves, to the door that led to main hall of the keep. At Geralt’s proclamation he stopped and glared.

“He’s good at talking people down and screaming if anyone pulls out a knife,” the Witcher explained.

Letho chuckled and Dandelion scowled, turning on his heel and stomping away.

Geralt jogged to catch up once Letho plodded off on his own, hopefully to find somewhere to lay low.

“Oh,” Dandelion said as they neared the keep’s main door. “Keirra’s been living in a bubble.”

“What?”

Dandelion shrugged. “I’m not entirely certain, although I am certain that her portal world has a nicer bed than your room. She won’t stop bragging about it!”

“I take it you’ve been living in my room?”

The bard grinned at him. 

Inside, Geralt found himself face to face with Keira and her magic bubble, where she seemed to have an entire bedroom. “Getting all gussied up for the Wild Hunt?” he asked as she brushed her hair.

“Women only ever beautify themselves for their own satisfaction.”

He snorted. “Glad you’re here.”

“I started off heading in the opposite direction,” she said slowly, “but then I changed my mind.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Geralt,” Dandelion said softly. “One should never ask a woman to explain herself.”

“He’s right,” said Keira, winking at Dandelion. The bard grinned.

“No,” said Geralt, grabbing him by his collar and pulling him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've spelled Skellige, Skelliege, Skelligan, Skelligen, every possible way throughout the last few chapters and at this point, its become an inside joke with myself and my spellcheck so I refuse to look up the proper spelling.
> 
> On a related note, my computer updated last night and has been very determined to change Geralt to Gerald ever since.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be honest it took me forever to type this up because I CANNOT handle dramatic Hero Speeches. -glares at Geralt- 
> 
> Geralt: I’m trying to be Serious and Deep  
> Literally everyone ever: Please stop, Lets talk about bombs.

That night they crowded together into the most intact corner of the great hall, sitting on chairs, tables, boxes, and the floor. Anything that was semi-useable. 

“Geralt would like to thank all of you for coming,” said Dandelion brightly, sprawled on a pile of boxes that he’d shoved together. “And I would like to thank you for not murdering one another.” 

“Dandelion?” Geralt asked. “Shut it.”

“No.” Zoltan shoved the bard who sighed dramatically and picked up his quill. He had apparently elected himself as their stenographer. _It's always about the ballads with him_ , thought Geralt bitterly. _Never thinks before running headfirst into trouble_.

“The Wild Hunt will be here soon,” said Geralt, deciding it was best to ignore his friend. “They’re coming for Ciri, want to take her. We’ll stop them.”

“How do you even know the Hunt’ll show?” asked Lambert.

“They always know where I teleport to,” said Ciri. “And they move from place to place in an instant.”

Dandelion’s quill stopped scratching over the paper. “Uh,” he said. “I’m not certain you mentioned that part when you were hiding in my house.” 

“There aren’t many of us,” Geralt said, talking louder over Dandelion. “But I’d trust any of you with my life.”

“Even him?” Lambert nodded to Dandelion who glared and wrote something on his paper. It seemed Lambert wasn’t going to get his moment in the spotlight, at least not in a positive way.

“Even Dandelion,” Geralt said firmly. The bard beamed. “When they attack,” he continued, “Yen’ll dome the fortress with a magic shield. Hunt’ll be forced to land outside the walls.”

“If they’re dispersed into the woods we could hunt down small groups of riders,” suggested Lambert.

Geralt nodded. “Got our first volunteer for the hunting party then,” he said, pointing at Lambert. “I’m the second.”

“Count me in too,” rumbled Letho. Dandelion jumped, apparently not having realized that the Kingslayer was crouched in the shadows behind his pile of boxes. “Always believed attack is the best defense.”

“Ciri’s most important in all of this,” Geralt said. “Hunt’s after her, and we have to defend her at all costs.”

“What do I do?” she asked.

“Stay inside the keep,” said Yennefer without hesitation. “If they break through, come inside, we’ll all converge to help you.”

“Out of the question!” she snapped. “I can take care of myself.”

“But can Dandelion?” asked Triss. “You’ll stay with him.”

For a moment, Dandelion looked as though he was going to argue and say he could take care of himself, but then he seemed to realize that it might be the only way to keep Ciri out of harm’s way. “Of course,” he said. “I have two broken feet after all, if you stay with me, I’ll tell you the whole story.”

Ciri sighed. “Fine,” she muttered as the bard resumed his record keeping.

Zoltan, who was reading Dandelion’s writings over his shoulder, snickered. “Ehhh, Laddie?” he said. “That ain’t what he said.”

“Remember,” said Geralt. “There’s only a few of us. We have to help each other, work together. If anything goes wrong and the hunt puts us on the defensive, we pull back, make a stand at the gates of the fortress. The inner courtyard is our last defense, if we don’t stop them there, we’re doomed.”

Dandelion suddenly looked nervous, as though he hadn’t actually considered that death was a possibility. Trying not to focus on him, Geralt asked, “What else do we have that we can use?”

Roche stood up, then seemed to remember that he wasn’t at a formal meeting and sat down. “Since you plan to ambush the Hunt in the woods, I could dig some trapping pits, Blue Stripes style.”

Zoltan muttered something about how that hadn’t done Temeria any good, but Roche either didn’t hear or ignored him. “What does that mean?” the dwarf asked, louder.

“Deep as the darkest abyss,” said Ves. “Bottom bristling with sharpened stakes.”

“I brought this Mahakaman mix,” said Zoltan, grinning. “Flammable as bone dry saltpeter and ploughin’ sticks to anything. Fill some barrels, stack ‘em in a narrow passage, and fire ‘em up at an opportune moment.”

Ermion stepped forward, raising his staff as he spoke, “Did you know we stand on a vast deposit of gas? If need be I could open cracks in the earth, create explosions. I would need to prepare though.”

“There’s the laboratory,” offered Vesemir. “And the workshop.”

“Does anyone have ideas that don’t involve explosives?” Dandelion murmured to Ciri who giggled.

“One thing to remember,” said Eskel, “we’ve got limited resources and even less time. We outta decide what weaponry’ll be most useful against the Hunt.”

“Clearly explosives,” Ciri whispered to Dandelion with a grin.

* * *

“Can’t help feeling we’ve overlooked something important,” Geralt said. The council had ended and he and Dandelion were the only ones left in the area, peering over the large map of Kaer Morhen, where Vesemir had helpfully penciled in every potential breach.

“Don’t think about it,” said Dandelion.

“I’m exposing you all to danger, unnecessarily,” he said quietly, running his hands through his hair.

“Geralt,” Dandelion said quietly, sitting aside the paper he’d been writing on. “Everyone here knew the risks, we know what the Hunt is.”

“Did you?”

“Of course,” said Dandelion. “When I was a student, I translated one of the foremost sources on the history of the Hunt.”

Geralt blinked, reminded, not for the first time, how often he forgot how smart Dandelion really was. “Anything useful in it?”

“Ah, no not really,” the poet said quickly. “In all honesty, it mostly described terrible ways that people died.”

“Great,” Geralt muttered.

The bard tilted his head, studying Geralt. “You’re going to win,” he said stubbornly. “You always pull through, Geralt. You even overcame being _dead_.”

“Only because of the Hunt.”

Dandelion shrugged. “I find it best to focus on the outcomes in that situation.”

“What outcome?” Geralt asked. “If I hadn’t come back you’d never have been taken by the Church-”

“No, you’re right,” said the bard. “I’ve drank myself to death instead.”

Geralt looked away, his eyes landing on a crossbow that sat on the table beside him. “Take this,” he told Dandelion, pushing it across the table. It wouldn’t be any good against the Wild Hunt, but it might make Dandelion feel better. “If anything comes at you, pull the trigger.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally uploaded chapter five instead of chapter four, but it's fixed now!!!

The keep rattled and Dandelion shivered. “Do you think that was-” He and Ciri were alone, the only two still inside after everyone else had headed outside to defend them.

The Hunt was moving in.

“That was Yen’s magic,” said Ciri quietly. Her eyes were locked on her sword, no doubt wishing she was out with the defenders.

“I’m rather amazed it didn’t knock the walls down,” said Dandelion. “The last time I was here, I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere by myself because Geralt was afraid I might fall through the floor.”

Ciri’s eyes finally left her sword, instead moving to study Dandelion. “I didn’t know you’d been here.”

“Didn’t Geralt tell you? I spent a Winter here once,” the bard said, leaning back and looking around the hall. “I had been… injured.”

“Geralt didn’t talk about you much,” said Ciri. “Except to give me volumes of your poetry to read, as if I hadn’t already read them in Cintra.”

“He has my poetry here?” Dandelion asked, sitting up excitedly.

Ciri nodded. “Mhm. Lambert told me not to believe a word you wrote, said you’d started all sorts of foul rumors about him.”

“That was one!” said Dandelion sharply. “And it wasn’t my fault.”

“What happened?”

“Well, most people seem to have forgotten it, but for a few years it was generally believed that all Witchers were Omegas.”

“I heard that one!” said Ciri. “Grandmama said it was a crock of nonsense.”

“It was,” agreed Dandelion.

“Why would you tell people that?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he said quietly. His hand moved to his bag and he pulled out the vial of suppressants, holding it out to show to Ciri. “My medication rolled out of my bag, Geralt claimed it was his so that no one would know about me.”

For a long moment, Ciri was silent, her green eyes studying the glass vial in Dandelion’s palm. “I- um, I’m not sure how to say this-”

“You didn’t know I was an Omega?” he guessed.

“No,” she shook her head. Then quickly added, “I don’t care, Dandelion! Not at all. It doesn’t matter!”

“It does matter,” he said cooly. “Everyone knows now, Dijkstra exposed me.” His lips curled into a sneer.

Ciri frowned. “Why-”

“Omegas can’t own property, can’t vote, can’t attend university, can’t even go to a whorehouse without permission.”

She blinked. “I- I had no idea,” she said quietly.

“Well,” said Dandelion with a shrug. “Now you do.”

Outside the window, a flare shot into the air. Dandelion’s stomach clenched.

“That’s Geralt’s distress signal,” whispered Ciri.

“Don’t worry,” said Dandelion. “Triss will rain fire on it, as she promised.”

The seconds ticked by and nothing happened. He stood and slowly made his way closer to the window, peering outside and trying to make sense of what was happening. But he couldn’t see anything, only a stretch of forest with Yen’s protective bubble.

“Don’t worry,” he said, turning back to face Ciri. But she was gone. “Fuck.”

Dandelion limped for the door, although he wasn’t certain what he would do, even if he found her. Even discounting her ability to open portals, she could have out walked him.

But he’d promised Geralt that he would keep an eye on her.

Finding another window, just by the main door of the keep, he peered outside, watching as Ciri raced along the walls, slicing through the hounds of the Hunt, toward Triss who was surrounded by a large group. “You know,” he said to himself. “I can keep an eye on her from right here.”

Together Ciri and Triss defeated the attackers, which bought enough time for Triss to finally respond to Geralt’s distress signal, throwing fireballs down into the forest.

From his vantage point he could see all the courtyards, watching as Geralt, Lambert, and Letho raced through the first gate, shutting it behind them. Dandelion couldn’t see what good a bit of wood and iron would do against the Wild Hunt.

Then he heard Vesemir, his voice clear even about the sounds of battle, “We gotta pull back! Yennefer’s strength is waning!”

He clutched Geralt’s crossbow, tightening his fingers around it and hoping he wouldn’t need to use it. The defenders were falling back through the courtyards, collapsing the doorways behind them to slow the hunt.

It was nearly impossible to keep track of everything, between the various explosions and people jumping through portals. But he kept his eyes glued on Geralt.

Soon they were back in the courtyard closest to the keep.

 _A final, noble stand_ , thought Dandelion, but it was hard to be excited by the prospect of a good ballad when people were about to die in front of him.

Then, just when it seemed that it couldn’t get any worse, Yennefer’s magic barrier fell.

Dandelion ducked behind the windowsill as a blast of cold air rushed toward him, covering everything in frost. When it seemed to have ended, leaving a chill in the air, he peeked outside again.

Everyone in the courtyard was frozen into blocks of ice. Dandelion’s heart pounded in his throat as he scanned the courtyard, hopping for any signs of life other than the riders of the Hunt. Finally, he saw movement. Two people remained unfrozen.

“Come,” said Vesemir, grabbing Ciri and trying to hurry her away. But Imlerith caught them, grabbing her by her hair.

One of the members of the hunt grabbed Vesemir, slamming him into the wall. “Run!” he yelled.

“She’ll not abandon you,” sneered Imlerith. “You humans are so… impractical.” He held out his hand.

“Ciri no!” yelled Vesemir. “I forbid you!”

Ciri dropped her sword.

“You always were an unruly child,” grumbled the aged Witcher. “I adored that about you.” Then he drove his knife into the monster that was holding him, racing forward to attack Imlerith.

But the soldier turned, grabbing him and lifting him off the ground. “You will die,” he said calmly.


	5. Chapter 5

A crossbow bolt came from seemingly nowhere, missing Imlerith by several feet. But a second one caught him in the shoulder, though it did no damage. Ciri and the monster both turned sharply, Imlerith dropping Vesemir in surprise. The Witcher hit the ground and gasped for air, wounded, but alive.

Standing on the steps to Kaer Morhen was Dandelion, his blue eyes wide with fright, Geralt’s crossbow in his hands.

“Shit,” he whispered. Moving as one, the warriors of the Hunt lunged for him. “Geralt! Help!” But Geralt was frozen, unable to move as Dandelion stumbled for safety.

Ciri screamed and her magic soared with it.

The force of it drove the Hunt back, causing them to flee or perish. The ice on the trapped fighters began to crack. Dandelion clamped his hands over his ears and stumbled for the door, then thought better of it, afraid Ciri’s power would bring the entire keep down on their heads. Instead, he ducked behind a railing.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

The newly freed fighters struggled to get their bearings, stumbling in a daze. “What happened?” gasped Geralt, grabbing onto Yen for support.

Vesemir struggled to sit up with Ciri’s help, then slumped back to the ground. “Give me a moment,” he managed. Eskel raced toward them, Geralt not far behind him, though still dazed.

Letho lifted a fallen wooden platform off Roche and Ves, who made a point of not looking at him. Lambert fished the Skelligan forces out from Ermion’s hole that they’d accidentally fallen into. Keira and Triss just stood in the middle of the courtyard, slightly dumbstruck.

“I nearly killed you,” whispered Ciri in disbelief. “Nearly killed everyone.”

“But you didn’t,” said Eskel.

Vesemir nodded from the ground. “He’s right,” he said. “You saved us, Ciri. You drove back the hunt.”

“Why didn’t they kill you?” Geralt asked, tilting his head and studying Vesemir. His memory was fuzzy, thanks to the hit it had taken from Ciri’s magic.

“Crossbow,” said Vesemir. “I thought you must have fired it.”

“I was frozen,” said Geralt. “It wasn’t me.” He glanced around. Several of the other fighters had crossbows, but none of them claimed the shot that had saved Vesemir.

“Divine intervention?” offered Triss.

“Could be,” said Roche, sounding doubtful.

“Did we win?” came a weak voice from the stairs. Dandelion’s head poked over the top of the railing he’d hidden behind, his eyes wide. Blood matted his blonde hair.

“Raise your hand,” said Yennefer quietly, pointing at the bard. “If you thought that was a hallucination.” Every hand in the courtyard went up.

“Dandelion!” Geralt ran for the steps, stumbling toward his friend.

When he reached him, Dandelion was still clutching the crossbow, looking scared out of his mind. Geralt tried to pull the weapon from his hands, but he hung onto it with the grip of a madman, determined not to give it up. With one hard yank he pulled it away.

“Dandelion,” he said. “Dandelion, look at me.” The bard stared at him blankly. When Geralt placed his hand on his neck his skin was clammy and his heart rate fast.

“Triss!”

The red-haired sorceress wasn’t far behind him, hurrying up the steps to Dandelion’s side. She parted his hair, finding the cut where blood was coming from. “It’s not a bad wound, won’t even need stitches,” she promised. “Just bleeding a lot. Put pressure on it.”

“He’s in shock,” said Roche, hurrying up behind them. “Happens when you’re not used to battle.” The soldier took control easily, sending Triss to take care of people who had more severe wounds while he helped Geralt to get Dandelion inside. “Ves! A blanket!”

“On it!” she shouted, jogging past.

They helped Dandelion into the main room of the keep where they’d been staying and laid him out on a cot near a fire. Geralt held a wadded up cloth to his head wound while Roche propped his feet on broken crate to elevate them.

“Talk to him,” Roche said. “Keep him calm.” Ves hurried over with a blanket, wrapping it over the bard. 

“Dandelion?” Geralt asked. “Dandelion, the fight’s over. We’re safe. Everyone’s alive.”

“Let him smell you,” suggested Roche. “It might break through the shock.”

Geralt held out his hand, offering Dandelion the scent glands on his wrist. The bard’s eyes fluttered open weakly and he whined, then closed them again.

“Keep talking to him,” said Roche with a nod.

Geralt rested his hand on Dandelion’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Dandelion, can you hear me?”

The bard only whimpered.

Geralt sat with him as the rest of the fighters trickled back in the great hall, putting aside their weapons in favor of alcohol, or allowing Triss to look at their injuries.

But Geralt didn’t move from Dandelion’s side.

Finally, after talking quietly with Ciri and Vesemir, Yennefer walked toward them, nodding at Dandelion. “How is he?”

“His heart rate slowed down,” said Geralt. “I think he’s sleeping.”

“I still can’t quite believe that he saved us,” Yennefer said with a shake of her head. “He’s never going to let us forget that.”

Geralt chuckled. “No.”

She knelt beside him, studying Dandelion in silence. Finally she said, “Triss told me what happened in Novigrad. He deserved better.”

“He does.”

“I never understood your care for him,” she confessed. “I can’t say I liked it, but he always cheered you, so I can’t fault him.”

“He’d say the same about you,” Geralt said. “Well, the not liking you part.”

She laughed. “Still holding grudges?”

“Dandelion will outlive the universe to hold grudges.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They all saw Dandelion but they all just… silently decided it must have been a hallucination until the second time he popped up. 
> 
> Basically no one wanted to be the one to say “hey I saw Dandelion with a weapon” because they figured everyone else would think they were insane. 
> 
> And you should know that I wasn’t gonna spare Vesemir but arthurthegatekeeper really wanted it and they comment on literally every chapter. 
> 
> So thank them.


	6. Chapter 6

“Geralt?”

“I’m here Dandelion.” It was late, the rest of the fighters had long since gone to sleep, sprawled on cots and in hammocks throughout the great hall. Geralt had stayed by Dandelion’s side, meditating while keeping an eye on him.

“Is the Hunt… gone?” He blinked and turned his head slowly to look at Geralt. A bandage crossed his hair and his face was deathly pale, but his heart rate and breathing held steady.

“No,” Geralt said quietly. It was something they’d already decided. The hunt would come back for Ciri again, they just needed to be ready. No one was entirely sure how that would work.

“Damn.”

“Damn,” Geralt agreed. “How’s your head?”

“Hurts.” Dandelion tried to push himself up, only to fall back down again. Geralt reached over and placed his hand on his shoulder to stop him from trying again. “I- did I hit him? I can’t remember.”

“You pissed him off, but he’s still alive.”

“What about Vesemir?”

“We’re all alive,” Geralt promised.

Dandelion smiled. “Good,” he mumbled. “I’m going back to sleep now.”

* * *

By the next afternoon, after having been given several potions by Triss, Dandelion was more or less back to his usual, obnoxious self.

He was, as Geralt had predicted, puffed up and proud of himself for being the apparent hero of the day, but no one, even Lambert, could find anything to complain when it meant Vesemir was still alive.

Dandelion propped himself back in the pile of crates - under a blanket he’d insisted Geralt bring from upstairs ( _“I remember you had that fur blanket on your bed,” he’d said, “I liked that blanket. It was very soft.”_ ). Geralt already chalked the blanket up as a loss, he’d been surprised Dandelion hadn’t claimed it the last time he was in Kaer Morhen, and since the poet had a stable home, there was no reason not to let him take it.

He chatted happily with anyone who walked by, telling them excitedly about his tavern and insisting that they were all welcome to stop by and visit anytime.

When Avalach finally made his appearance, Geralt was sitting beside Dandelion, chatting with Yen and Triss.

“Haven’t had a chance to talk,” said Geralt as the elf approached. “Thanks for your help. And for looking after Ciri.”

“You will thank me later,” said Avalach simply. “Now we must take Zireael from here, hide her, and gather a greater force.”

Triss shook her head. “Anyone, _everyone_ we could count on came to Kaer Morhen.”

“Which is why we must seek the help of enemies,” said Yennefer. “Magic is our best defense against the Hunt. We need sorceresses. Arch Mistresses of Magic.”

“Many of the Lodge’s members are dead,” pointed out Geralt. “The rest are in hiding.” 

“Philippa Eilhart, Margarita Laux Antille, and Fringilla Vigo are likely still alive.”

“And Francesca and Ida?” offered Triss. “Think they’d agree?”

“I think they’ll take convincing,” said Yen.

“I don’t want the lodge anywhere near Ciri,” said Geralt. “I don’t trust those women.”

“Neither do I,” said Dandelion, although no one had asked him, folding his arms over his chest. “I still haven’t forgotten the coup on Thanned.” 

“What would you have us do instead?” demanded Yennefer. “Fight alone and die a beautiful but pointless death? It would make a good ballad.”

Dandelion grunted.

“No Geralt,” she continued. “By some miracle we survived that fight, eking out a measly victory at great cost. No more guerrilla warfare - time to face the enemy in open battle.”

Yennefer took a deep breath. “I’ve made an agreement with the emperor,” she confessed. “In exchange for it’s help, the Lodge will be granted amnesty and asylum in Nilfgaard. That will be our bargaining chip.”

“Asylum in Nilfgaard?” asked the poet. “Who _wants_ that? He could offer full citizenship to Omegas and I’d have to think long and hard about it.”

“Triss, I wish to leave today to find the sorceresses. Will you help me?”

“Of course,” Triss said. “Even got an idea where you could start.”

Ciri, who, up until that point had been ignoring them, came stomping over. “Again you plan without even asking what I think!” she shouted. “I’ve had enough of this! Even Dandelion gets a say and he’s-”

The bard cut her off, offering, “An omega?”

Ciri didn’t stumble, continuing on with her original thought “-a poet! I won’t be taken somewhere like a bundle! I will not sit and twiddle my thumbs! I’m sick of waiting, sick of hiding!”

“You’re right,” Geralt said after a pause. “Proved today you can take care of yourself.”

“Easier to pat someone on the back and hope it will work out than face the truth,” said Avalach, turning to Geralt. “Zireael possesses a great power she cannot control. She is a danger - to herself, to others. Until she learns to control it she should remain isolated.”

“Oh fuck you,” said Dandelion, pointing his cane at the elf. “No one should be isolated, least of all Ciri. That’s a punishment, and she’s done nothing wrong.”

Ciri nodded in agreement, folding her arms over her chest. “First of all, bollocks. Second - if you’re going to speak of courage, at least address me directly and not through Geralt.” She shook her head. “I’m gone,” she said curtly, stomping off into the fortress.

“I’d better go after her,” Geralt muttered softly.

“Dandelion!” Ciri shouted, from around the corner. “Come on!”

The bard’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m coming!” he said quickly, clamoring down off his crates and hurrying after her as best he could.

“We should start training as soon as possible,” Avalach said once the pair was out of earshot. “She must learn to control her abilities.”

“This training really necessary?” asked Geralt.

“You saw what happened,” said Yennefer. “She could be a greater threat than the Hunt.”

“Fine,” said Geralt curtly. “We’ll stay here a while longer, then join you and Triss in Novigrad. Meet at Dandelion’s inn.”

“Dandelion’s…. Inn?” Yennefer asked slowly.

“Come on Yen,” said Triss, “I’ll explain on the way. I might have left a few things out of my explanation.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dandelion always gets what he wants, be it through flirting or threatening people with Geralt’s sadness. It’s certainly effective.


End file.
